


Madam Xorba's Delights

by AnansiAnansi



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Also fluff, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, And yes of course, As per yoozh, Clexa Endgame, F/F, Fortune Telling, Magic phone app, Only slightly belated Valentine's Day gift for you all, This is one CRACKTASTIC fic, You Have Been Warned, how the hell do you spell that anyway?, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:42:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29500131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnansiAnansi/pseuds/AnansiAnansi
Summary: Clarke Griffin is alone and lonely, and hating Valentine's Day. But not for long; not if Madam Xorba has anything to do with it.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 20
Kudos: 77





	Madam Xorba's Delights

Was it possible to feel a cliche about a cliche? Of all the days to conjure up strong feelings about well, _feelings_ , today was the one when Clarke wanted to sink into her couch cushions, drink an entire bottle of wine (or three), watch the kind of TV that put reality television to shame, and feel nothing. Sighing, head against the backrest, she flicked through the channels until she had run the entire gamut of all 459, minus the radio stations. Briefly, she considered checking out the bouquet of porn-on-demand, but found herself trying not to roll her eyes at the titles: somehow even the tongue-in-(ass?) cheek literary references of _Ejacula_ , _Tale of Two Titties_ , _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Breast_ and _Spankenstein_ couldn’t meet her, umm, _Great Sexpectations_. 

But food could.

Clarke picked up her phone, debating about what the least sad of her delivery-for-one dinner options might be. Ethiopian? No, the intimacy of sharing a plate of delectable, spiced morsels, of fingers brushing over the soft, spongy, soaked _injera_ ….she quickly scrolled past before her thoughts could distract her from her rumbling stomach anymore. Tapas? Visions of being fed little mouthfuls by an absent lover floated by. Scowling, her thumb moving faster down the list, she tried looking for something, anything that didn’t either have a couples’ special or a cutesy caption attached to it. For a few seconds, she felt her resolve weakening; maybe she could text Finn, maybe he was lonely, too, and maybe a simple booty call could fix it all, for tonight at least. Then, she remembered the last time that had happened, he had spent the next two weeks trying to convince her to date him again. Ugh. She wasn’t up for that kind of angsty rigmarole this time around. Pouting, her eyes moved to the last option on the list: _Woods, Fired_! She paused; pizza, why not? The restaurant menu was simple; handmade crusts with fresh ingredients, and three unpretentious sauce options: white, red or naked. _Naked?_ Clarke’s eyes widened, and she groaned. She really, really needed to take care of herself later; this was ludicrous. 

Settling for a classic margherita, her gold-standard for gauging a pizzeria, Clarke navigated to the payment section, wondering why the name sounded familiar; it hit her as she stared at the slow circle on her screen; Raven had sent her an article about the restaurant, flagging it as something to try out on one of their next hangouts. It was a family-owned hole in the wall from the opposite side of town that had recently clawed its way out of bankruptcy, thanks to its new management made up of the owner’s daughters; the Woods sisters were making a splash in local media for their heartfelt efforts to preserve their legacy, but also to their commitment to activism and championship for locally owned businesses. Clarke pursed her lips; maybe she’d get some good karma back for her support tonight. 

The payment wheel was still going; what was taking so long? Her screen flashed suddenly, gaudy colours and slightly eerie carnival music making her wince: _Congratulations! You are user 831831! Madam Xorba invites you to speak your truth._ A woman’s turbaned face filled the now slightly smoky screen; her full lips moved with the inexact finesse of a somewhat inept graphics job: _Speak your wish now, and I shall grant it._ Clarke sighed; she just wanted to pay for her pizza, but Madam Xorba’s slightly creepy, kohl-rimmed stare, and the lack of an X in the corner of the screen to exit the ad was making it impossible to move on. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.” There. She had said out loud what had been eating at her all day. 

Madam Xorba blinked once. _As you wish._ And then, she was gone as suddenly as she had appeared. Paying for her meal, Clarke scoffed out loud. If Bot Xorba could fix her crumbling love life, she’d have to rethink everything she knew about anything at all. 

Lying back on her couch, she felt a sudden resoluteness overcome her. It was time to take a break from the online dating world; she was over it all; the roulette of multiple chats, the sliding into DMs of virtual strangers and depending on how that went, into the strangers themselves, the countless one-night stands with endlessly excruciating attempts at connection the mornings after. It had all had a time and a place in her life but she was done with it, starting now. Clarke began culling the dating apps on her phone, feeling lighter with each ruthless flick. Taking a deep breath, she continued; the social media ones came next; those, she would only put on hiatus. She paused as an unfamiliar square came into focus: _TruthSayer_. She didn’t remember downloading that one. Curious, she clicked on it. Her screen was filled with the background of an indigo night, with a few stars twinkling against it; for a second, she could have sworn they glittered like Madam Xorba’s eyes: cold, empty and unsettling. Clarke shook her head; she was just being ridiculous; she was bored, and her mind was taking her to the strangest places tonight.

_Welcome. You have entered the realm of possibilities. You may begin, and we shall take turns to make your fantasy a reality together._

A white cursor blinked before her. _Type your first question._ What in the world was she supposed to ask? She tried tapping on the screen a few times, looking for a way out; there wasn’t one. She tried locking her phone, but it wouldn’t respond. It, and she, were stuck, in whatever weird playworld this was. Rolling her eyes, Clarke began typing; the quicker she responded, the faster it would end. _Will I find someone to be with soon?_

She watched her answer disappear in an electronic rendition of smoke, only for a single word to reappear. _Yes._

Huh. _How soon?_

_Imminently._

Clarke shifted on the couch; the game creators were really leaning into the ominous vibes hardcore. Intrigued, she wrote back. _Like, tonight?_ Madam Xorba flashed into her mind again. 

_That is above my pay grade. I am but a humble truthbot. Next question?_

Clarke’s lips quirked into a chuckle; TruthSayer had learnt some hard life facts, at least. _What will they look like?_

She watched the empty screen intently; how was it possible for a software to pretend it was thinking hard, so well? _High cheekbones, full lips, dark hair, legs for days._

She laughed out loud; this was an extraordinarily well-programmed AI; she was beginning to enjoy herself.

_Sexy. What colour eyes? And do I get to kiss those lips?_

The response came back instantly. _Too many questions; cannot compute. Green._

She waited for more, but TruthSayer had lapsed into silence again.

_What is the first thing they will say to me?_

She was holding her breath now, watching. Would this person be a poet, spouting sonnets with each breath? _Sorry. I’m so sorry._

Okay, she definitely wasn’t expecting that. _What else?_ She felt irritation prickling at her; TruthBot needed to up its game. _It’s been one of those days._

Clarke frowned; okay, this was leaning towards decidedly _un_ romantic. Not that any of this could be remotely true, but she wanted her fantasy lover to have game, dammit. _Will I fall in love?_

TruthThing better have a good answer for this one, Clarke thought. _Depends on if you want to._

Ugh. She was annoyed now; why was this stupid game riling her up so much? _Come on, TruthSayer, tell me something true._

TruthSayer took its own sweet time on that one. It took so long, Clarke thought it had frozen. So long in fact, that she jumped when the doorbell rang. The pizza was here, but TruthSayer still didn’t have an answer for her. What did she expect but emptiness from empty tech anyway? Shaking her head at her own naivete, Clarke walked up to answer the front door, stopping to look through the peephole. All she caught sight of were a dark hat, a matching jacket, and the top of a flat cardboard box. Here at least, was something that wouldn’t disappoint. She could smell the fragrance of basil wafting through the wood.

She yanked the door open, and her jaw dropped.

With a face framed by a flour-stained baseball cap with _Woods, Fired!_ embroidered in cursive on it, delicate eyebrows knitted together tightly, razor-sharp cheekbones dusted with the pink flush of a cold night, perfectly straight white teeth worrying what were probably the most luscious lips in existence, stood the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Blood rushing to her head, Clarke felt her heart thumping loudly in her chest. Who was this total _dreamboat_ , but more importantly, what did she mean to Clarke?

The woman hesitated a few moments, before clearing her throat. “Sorry.” The softness of her voice took Clarke by surprise. “I’m so sorry.” 

Clarke only continued to stare, now taken aback by the words she had just heard. “What did you say?”

“I said, I’m sorry. It’s been one of those days. We’re understaffed, and your pizza is….” She looked at her watch. “....Four minutes, thirty-two seconds late.” When she looked up, Clarke lost her breath once more. “It’s on the house.”

Nodding silently, Clarke took the pizza box into her own arms; she raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t order…”

“....A large, I know. I just gave you an upsize. For the trouble.” The woman touched the brim of her cap almost shyly, her intense gaze still focused on Clarke. “More for you and whoever’s lucky enough to share it with you.” Then, as if realizing what she had said, she began stammering, her face flushing harder. “I mean, you know, I hope you have a great evening. With the pizza.” She turned to leave, her strides taking her to the end of the corridor in a few easy steps. _Legs for days._

Clarke snapped out of her reverie then, just as the elevator pinged open. “Hey! Actually, this is too much to eat all alone.” She bit her lip; it was now or never. “Do you want to be the lucky one to share this with me?” She batted her eyelashes. “I didn’t get your name….?”

Nothing moved in the world for a few long moments; then, her face breaking into the most breathtaking smile, the woman began walking back to Clarke. “Lexa. Lexa Woods. And yes, I do.”

They were eye to eye now; Clarke dipped her head slightly. _Green._ She had the most incredible green eyes. Matching Lexa’s smile, she stepped aside to let her in. She set the table for two quickly, pouring Lexa a glass of wine. When they sat down to eat, Clarke realized Lexa had taken her hat off; her dark hair was tied back in the most beautiful, intricate braids. She shook her head, looking for her phone; she realized it was still on the couch at the other end of the apartment. She’d check it later.

They finished the pizza. And the wine. And Lexa stayed the night. And the next one. And the one after that; and so on. And the TruthSayer flashed one final message for no one to see, before fading into its eternal slumber of obsoleteness: _You’ll never hate Valentine’s Day again._

It was true. Clarke would always fondly remember it as the day she met her future wife over a free wish and a sassy, fortune-telling bot. And the rest, as they say, is mysterious, delightful history.


End file.
